Nothing Left To Lose
by Ghoraidh
Summary: One-shot for Metropolis (the 2001 anime). Kenichi finds Rock in the rubble after the Ziggurat explodes. Rock has a gun, but will he be strong enough to use it?


"Not so fast." The voice from behind him was ragged and hoarse, but something in it still masked a coiled snake, ready to strike. Kenichi whirled around, his heart thudding in his throat, and looked down the barrel of a gun.

Rock's lip quivered into his best imitation of his old sneer.

"Bet you thought you'd gotten rid of me, eh?"

Kenichi didn't move a muscle. He stared into the blue eyes, reading hatred there but also confusion, pain and, half-hidden behind the rest, the first tremors of fear. Kenichi didn't flatter himself that he had anything to do with that fear. He recognized the empty, aching terror, it was the same agony that had seized his own heart as he watched Tima fall, the terror that only comes from the realization that the world can end without bringing an end, that one heart can stop while another goes on beating.

Kenichi swallowed. Fear. He could use that. He'd seen his uncle do this before, when they were working together in Japan.

Rock's hand trembled as Kenichi stepped closer. Kenichi kept his face still and blank, even when Rock jabbed the gun against his chest, stopping him.

"She's dead." Not much of it was acting, the emptiness in Kenichi's eyes came from deep inside him. It had needed to be let out for some time now. Kenichi's lip twisted and he laughed once, shortly and bitterly.

Rock's lips curved in response. He made a sharp, gasping sound that might have been a laugh or a sob.

"Good." The hand holding the gun dropped, the fingers loosening for a few seconds while Rock's head drooped. He took several difficult breaths, panting. Kenichi saw that he was hurt terribly, but no pity came. He felt suddenly beyond pity or pain. The venomous word had not hurt him, not even a little.

"All right. Your turn now." Rock's hand was moving again, moving to kill, and Kenichi saw it happening, knew his intent, and made no move to escape or stop him. He knew suddenly there was no part of him that Rock could touch. Perhaps it was the horror of the past hour or the unrelenting malevolence of his antagonist that made him feel the slate had been wiped clean, that both he and Rock had already been sent to their last places, and that reality was only a veil, separating them completely and irrevocably. He knew a sudden lightness, a certainty that everything was going as it must, and realized his duty.

The dead click of the hammer was no surprise. Kenichi put out his hand and pushed the gun away. It went easily, in spite of Rock's strangled cry of frustration as he jerked the trigger, again and again, staggering forward and half-falling against Kenichi with the effort. His enemy's strength was fading rapidly. Kenichi knew even the fierce fire in him would not hold off death much longer.

"What are you doing?" Rock struggled to get up, his eyes wide with terror as he realized he could no longer even lift the gun. He dropped it and raised one hand toward Kenichi's neck. Kenichi put his own hand on top of it, his slender hand curling down over the bloody fingers. Rock's eyes registered shock, then dismay. He strained again, uselessly, to pull away or lift his head from Kenichi's shoulder where it had come to rest as they dropped to their knees together. Kenichi sank to a sitting position and put his back against an upthrust of debris. Rock had kept one hand clenched in Kenichi's clothes, holding himself off, but now even gravity was stronger than he was. He shuddered violently and pitched forward, his legs giving out as he collapsed onto all fours.

Kenichi looked over at him. He was still holding himself up with both arms, but they were quivering with the effort. Kenichi sighed. He rose slowly to his knees and made his way over to him.

Rock stared at him dumbly as he pushed him onto his side. Kenichi crawled around to his shoulders and lifted him, aided by Rock's stubborn attempts to get up. Rock's hand lacked the strength to push him away, but his body felt heavy and hard against Kenichi's and his head drooped sullenly onto Kenichi's shoulder. Kenichi felt his own heart jerk, horribly, as the bubble burst. This was reality: he was alive in hell, his enemy's body jammed angrily and unwillingly against his, both of them broken and battered and perhaps minutes from death. There was no exalted plane, no power protecting him other than the godlike wrath that had shattered his life as readily as it had destroyed Rock's gun.

"Goddammit!" Kenichi's hands clenched in what was left of Rock's sweater, the warm blood sticky between his fingers. Rock's eyes opened, surprised and wondering to find the same fury in Kenichi's eyes that had driven him for most of his life. Kenichi slammed a fist against his chest and Rock coughed, a smile of real pleasure making the bloody lips crooked again.

"Shut up!" Kenichi snapped, but the pleasure had already faded from Rock's eyes and they had begun to wander, searching. Kenichi gripped his shoulders and shook them. Rock focused on him again, with difficulty, choking a little. He grimaced, striving for recognition, but Kenichi knew the faces dancing before him were no longer from the intolerable present they shared. He was lost to another time, and Kenichi was just a pale ghost in a cage his mind had already left behind. Kenichi's shoulders drooped with defeat.

"Damn you!" he muttered. Rock's eyes met his again, still searching. He looked down at Kenichi's arm where it supported his head and shoulders.

"I-I don't want-you-I-I want-my-" He stared desperately up at Kenichi.

"I know." Kenichi's arms ached. How many more minutes? The body in his arms relaxed a little and sagged against his, the trembling growing worse. Kenichi looked down at him. He seemed suddenly smaller, and Kenichi wondered, fleetingly, what might have been if they had lived in two different worlds, worlds where there was no driving duty to punish or protect, or to seek out the truth that destroys all things.

A glow of blue glinted from under the long eyelashes and caught Kenichi unguarded. There was no recognition, but Rock's eyebrows peaked above his nose in response to the softness in Kenichi's eyes. Kenichi's eyes stung, he sensed a change in the blue eyes and felt himself break a little. What did it all matter, anyway? They were all dead and soon he would be too.

Rock struggled to rise but fell back.

"Gods, it hurts like hell!" he gasped. Kenichi gripped his fingers tightly and felt him clutch his hand. In the hazy half-twilight that now governed the city's underbelly some scavenging bird screamed, perhaps mourning its mate. Rock struggled, once, twice, and went very still. Kenichi heard his last breath, felt the life slipping from him just as his fingers were slipping from Kenichi's.

The sun broke through the clouds and Kenichi felt one final stab of anger, for Tima, for Atlas, and yes-even for him. He lifted one hand, free now forever of grasping fingers that begged for help he could not give. It felt heavy and clumsy as he raised it and placed it on Rock's forehead, drew his fingers down over the pale eyelids. His fingers came away bloody and he touched Rock's hair to wipe off the blood, his hand lingering in spite of himself.

Then there was nothing more to do. Kenichi knew he should go, while the body lying limply against his was still warm. He laid Rock down gently and stood. Others would find him. Kenichi hoped they would be kind. There was no more anger in him for any of it. His uncle had loved that about him, how his anger came and went as quickly as a summer thunderstorm.

Kenichi smiled, thinking of his uncle. He hadn't wanted to leave Kenichi, but Kenichi had explained it all, the time the doctor had given him, how he wanted his last act to be finding whatever was left of Tima. He hadn't really believed she could be rebuilt at the time, but they had found so many pieces these last few days. Who knew what could happen, in a world so completely changed? Perhaps the doctor was wrong, he had been very busy of course that day, with all the victims of the blast.

He lifted his head, looking away from the broken thing at his feet, looking up to the blue sky where a flock of white pigeons wheeled around the wreckage of the towers. He was still alive, and young, and the world seemed bright with opportunity.


End file.
